A silent creek Thessalia’s coast can show, Two arms project, and shape it like a bow; ’Twould make a bay, but the transparent tide Does scarce the yellow-gravell’d bottom hide; For the quick eye may through the liquid wave A firm, unweedy, level beach perceive: A grove of fragrant myrtle near it grows, Whose boughs, though thick, a beauteous grot disclose; The well-wrought fabric, to discerning eyes, Rather by art than nature seems to rise. A bridled dolphin oft fair Thetis bore To this her loved retreat, her favourite shore; Here Peleus seized her, slumbering while she lay, And urged his suit with all that love could say. The nymph, o’erpower’d, to art for succour flies, And various shapes the eager youth surprise; A bird she seems, but plies her wings in vain, His hands the fleeting substance still detain; A branchy tree high in the air she grew, About its bark his nimble arms he threw; A tiger next, she glares with flaming eyes, The frighten’d lover quits his hold, and flies The sea gods he with sacred rites adores, Then a libation on the ocean pours;